


Spiderbites

by wickedradical



Series: A Stable Relationship [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Caliginous-Flushed Vacillation, Equius POV, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, background meowrails, but only because he knows next to nothing about them, equius is paranoid about vriskas manipulative powers, neigh8ors, nepeta terezi the condesce feferi and eridan are mentioned, violence because equius is too strong™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 19:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12489404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedradical/pseuds/wickedradical
Summary: Holding yourself up with one hand, you use the other to yank at her hair again, which causes her to bite down harder. You let out a low bellow, thumping her on the head as lightly as you can manage, given the situation. She lets out a yelp, hands flashing from your cheeks to the side of her head.Vriska’s eyes have gone wide in fear, and your heart rate increases(a feat, considering it was going a hundred already).That was the right thing to do, you assure yourself. As much as you don’t want things to vacillate to red because you’d gone too far, itreallywasn’t the best feeling to have fangs about to runthroughyour lip.Still, you can’t help but feel a flash of pity. You’ve hurt Nepeta enough times to know exactly what pain looks like in someone’s expression, pain thatyoucaused. But no, there could be no room for pity here. Vriskadeservedthis.





	Spiderbites

Sometimes you think that she only visits to bother you, like you’re some toy she can fiddle with and ditch as soon as things get boring. The _nerve_! The fact that she would associate with _anyone_ only to manipulate them infuriates you, and even more so when you realize that there’s not a single thing you can or even _will_ do about it.

As much as you hate to admit it, your hive _does_ get fairly lonely. Not a lot of trolls are willing to set foot in such a blatantly highblood neighborhood, and even if Nepeta was inclined to visit you(she really wasn’t—she said the whole place smelled like sweat and that she was never coming back—you still aren’t sure if she was joking or not), you would never allow her anywhere near without several trolls as escort. Even if she ever allowed it(you'd be surprised if she did), you don’t trust nearly enough trolls.

Vriska was the solution, if one could call it that. Saying that was a long stretch would be an understatement. She didn’t visit a lot, really—you’d have pulled out your horns in frustration sweeps ago if she had decided to, as she would put it, _grace your presence_ more often. But she came enough to keep things from getting too dull. After all, you only had so much time to set aside for video chats with your moirail. You _were_ a busy highblood after all, and she was certainly busy on her hunts, both catching prey and avoiding _becoming_ prey.

“Quit worrying so much.” The ceruleanblood sighs, leaning her head on her hand. You jump in surprise, having momentarily forgotten she was there. “What makes you think I am worrying? I have no reason to worry, I am a highblood in complete control of my surroundings.” She lets out a disbelieving snort, shoving at one of your shoulders. Is it bad that you briefly fantasize a scenario in which this action causes her pain—or even injury? Maybe she would begin to take your strength more seriously.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Vriska raises her eyebrows and gives you a smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ah—maybe that’s just your sweat. “I’m just glad _I_ didn’t pick some sniveling oliveblood to pity.”  “Nepeta does _not_ snivel.” You clench your fist involuntarily, then try to take a breath and relax when you realize that you were just about to make yet _another_ groove in your metal worktable.

“Whatever makes you feel better! _My_ moirail is _way_ better than she will ever be.” You narrow your eyes at her from behind your shades. “Calling what is between you and Miss Pyrope a _moiraillegiance_ ,” You take great care to enunciate each syllable carefully, driving them in(not that Vriska will care either way). “is quite an overstatement. You may think that you are subtle and sneaky in your manipulative ways, but it is all very clear to anyone with half a brain that you are using them on those you _claim_ to pity.” “Let me guess, you’re going to tell me that _you_ , an _esteemed_ highblood,” Her voice is just _dripping_ with sarcasm. “are above all this nonsense?”

You swallow uncertainly. _Yes, that is_ exactly _what you were going to say_. Vriska lets out one of her infuriating little laughs again, and it’s all you can do _not_ to grind what few teeth you have left into little stubs. You steel yourself. “Of course that’s what I was going to say.” You glare at her, brows raised. “If you know me so well, and expected such a response, then why are you doing what you are doing?” “What, it’s not like I can tell the future!” She leaned back in her— _your_ (this is _your_ hive, _she_ is the one who doesn’t belong, you have to remind yourself)—seat, and you fight the urge to nudge the leg just a _little_ further so she collapses. _“Naturally.”_ You hope you sound a lot more confident than you actually feel. Could _she not tell the future? How far did her psychic powers go?_ It’s beginning to give you a headache, you prefer thinking of your indigoblood STRENGTH instead.

“Not that I expect a big guy like _you_ to understand, of course.” Her voice is a sickly sweet purr, and it makes you nauseous. It’s almost like she can read your mind. _Do her powers go_ that _far?_ “I understand perfectly fine.” You sit up higher in your chair, taking advantage of the few inches you have over her. “…At least I understand what I need to. I myself am not a lowly cerulean, of course-” “I’m _one_ caste down from you!” Her face twists up in a snarl momentarily, but she regains her composure and casually continues, laughing to cover up her outburst. “I can’t believe you’d go _that_ far to rub in your superiority.”

“One must adhere to the Hemospectrum. If not, when Her Imperial Condescension comes back,” You speak the almighty empress’s name with as much reverence as you can muster up. “You will _certainly_ be punished.” Sweat beads on your brow as you begin to imagine just _how_ the fuchsia ruler would punish Vriska. If you were worthy of speaking with the Alternian heiress, perhaps you would bring the subject up with her. _She_ could always enact a little justice in The Condesce’s stead, right? Maybe you will convince her moirail, if he ever tries to speak to you again(you _really_ hope he doesn’t).

“ _If_ she comes back.” You are brought back to the present by her heretic statement, and let out a gasp. “ _When_ , you mean.” Your shock and disbelief have overridden your anger. “ _When_ she comes back.” The ceruleanblood only giggles, looking at you over the rims of her glasses. Sometimes you forget how intense her gaze eightfold is. This is _not_ one of those times.

“You seem awfully hopeful.” “Well,” You scramble to collect yourself, hands shaking, if only infinitesimally(at least, you _hope_ only infinitesimally—you don’t need to give Vriska any more bait). “Seeing a lowerblood-” Ah, there’s that annoyed grimace again—now it’s _your_ turn to smirk(albeit not too well—it’s hard without enough teeth). “A _lowerblood_ ,” You repeat the phrase, daring her to confront you, your gold eyes staring through hers. “such as _you_ , get a punishment that you fully deserve..” Your breathing quickens. “It would be _any_ highblood’s dream come true.” Your hands are clasped together, and your claws are beginning to cut little grooves into the backs on your palms.

“Really?” You scan her face as she replies, puzzled. She seems surprised, but you can’t tell if it’s a ruse to mask her disinterest. _Is she using her psychic powers to confuse you?_ “Yes, of cour-” “Because if you ask _me_ ,” Vriska points to herself with a hand of perfectly painted claws. “I’d have always guessed that _you_ wanted to be punished.” You let out another gasp, shoulders stiffening.

“Wha- What-” She grins, smug, the look of a troll who _knows_ they are right. You scramble to defend yourself, looking away. “N-! No! I-! I have not done _anything_ to deserve such a fate, I am a perfectly well behaved, law abiding troll who-” “You say you don’t deserve it…” She interrupts you, and you bite your lip as she proceeds. “But if the chance came up, would you turn it down?” You don’t notice that she has leant over the table to grab your chin until her warmer(if only barely) fingers are against your skin. You gulp, trembling.

“I… I…” _Oh gog, you_ wouldn’t. As you stare into her eyes, finally meeting her gaze once more, you know that you are too far down the hopbeasthole to escape her advances. “The empress has the powers of a ceruleanblood, you know _that_ much of course?” Her claws begin to dig into your chin, although maybe it’s just because you’ve grown so tense. _Or maybe you’re subconsciously leaning into her touch? Is she manipulating you already? Has she been manipulating you the whole time?_

Okay, you’re _definitely_ leaning into her claws now. It hurts, needless to say, but it doesn’t feel as bad you’d thought. If anything, it feels kinda _nice_. You’ve really realized until this moment how _attractive_ Vriska is. You’d always harbored the occasional black or red thoughts here and there(the former more often than the latter), but to have something actually _come_ of it.. You’ve frozen up, you’re not sure what to do.

Kissing is what matesprits do, right? And kismeses? Not moirails—at least not on the lips. So kissing was the right thing to do in this situation, right? Were the two of you even in a quadrant? If you were it was certainly concupiscent, not conciliatory(or so you hoped, with all your might). In some strange and sudden surge of confidence, you found your black lips against her cerulean painted ones.

It was a tender kiss, if a bit clumsy. …Okay, a _lot_ clumsy. But you’d never really kissed someone before! At least not like _this_. Even though she’d been the one leaning across your table originally, you end up standing in order to get a better grip on her, hands reaching up to tangle in her wild, dark hair. The metal of the table’s edge is uncomfortable against your hips in this position, but that becomes inconsequential as it begins to begins to buckle, wrinkling against your strength.

Mentally, you berate yourself from allowing yourself to be so desperate, for letting your carefully constructed persona shatter before her eyes. But another, smaller, part of you whispers, _is it really your fault? However depraved it is, haven’t you always wanted something like this? But you have work to get done- Screw the work!—Excuse your language._

Vriska has manipulative psychic powers, of _course_ it’d be hard to hold anything she wanted back. But _you’re_ the one that wanted this, right? Well, yes. But you never would’ve gone this far on your own. Not if you _weren’t_ being controlled at _least_ a little. _She'd been manipulating you._

_This shouldn’t have a been a surprise._

It shouldn’t, and yet at _realizing_ just how far you have _willingly_ let yourself fall, you become _enraged_. How much of this was your own perversion, and how much was _her_ manipulation? You don’t know. It’s impossible to tell.

The hand that had been stroking her hair grabs a lock and _yanks_ it, and you other hand grabs the wrist of the hand that is _still_ on your chin. Vriska’s eyes grow wide and she lets out a gasp( _ha!_ now _she_ can be the one coming undone, _finally_ ). “Wh-” She is at a loss for words, wincing at the hair pulling and trying to free her hand all at once.

It isn’t long before she gives up against your indomitable strength. Good ceruleanblood, she’s beginning to learn her place. She looks _scared_ and this _thrills_ you. “What are you doing?” She’s trying to put on a frustrated, more confident approach, but you can see right through it. “Why won’t you-” Vriska gives her trapped arm one last, half hearted tug. “Let me go!”

You do as she asks, _not_ because she asked you to and you pity her(you couldn’t bring yourself to pity someone who manipulated you so), but because you don’t feel that a broken wrist is the best way to start a kismesissitude.

Yes, you still have feelings for her. A little manipulation isn’t going to get rid of those, in fact all it _really_ did was finally help you decide on a quadrant. Thinking on it for a moment, you realize that she was always more of a nuisance than a help. Of course, you wouldn’t ever want to _keep_ her from coming. Being annoying was part of being a kismesis, and again, you’d be terribly lonely without her, as loath as you were to admit it.

“Now what was _that_ all about?” Her fangs are bared in a snarl, all her gusto back now that she is no longer restrained. “What’s the big idea, invite me over only to go nuts and kill me?” She looks disgusted, and part of you wants to cower at her words, but you _know_ you have to start standing up for yourself.

“May I remind you, Miss Serket, that _you_ were the one that decided to _barge_ in _without_ any invitation?” “Oh, don’t you ‘ _Miss Serket_ ’ me.” She claws the air in little finger quotes. You raise your eyebrows and silently wonder if she will own up to being the one who got herself in this situation. “What? If you’re waiting for me to apologize or admit that I was in the wrong, then you’re going to be waiting for eight million sweeps. And _correct me if I’m wrong_ ,” Her voice is laced with venom that could rival even that of her lusus. “But you lousy indigos don’t live that long, _do_ you?”

“Oh, don’t even bother answering.” The ceruleanblood cuts you off with a wave of her hand before you can retort. “It’s all going to be some spiel about how you’re _too low_ to even _deserve_ to live that long, and how if anyone _a drop of blood_ higher than you ordered it, you’d kill yourself and drop dead right there, isn’t it?”

You thought you’d regained your calm attitude, but it falls apart once more at her complete _mockery_ of your beliefs. At least she hadn’t yet managed to compose herself either.

You _leap_ at her, pushing her and her chair to the floor, the table falling over in your wake. Your hands are on either side of her neck, not because you’re scared to strangle her(the only thing stopping you is the fact that you’d be stuck with a dead body, and those aren’t _nearly_ as attractive as live ones, however troublesome—oh, and _maybe_ you want to avoid the vengeance of her lusus as well), but because they’re the only thing holding you up over your brand new quadrantmate(as much as you hated her, you wouldn’t lower your standards to calling her pitchbitch, the black opposite of a flushcrush).

Before you can do anything, Vriska takes advantage of the fact that you landed in this position, grabbing the sides of your face and pulling it down _hard_. You thought her sharp claws hurt _earlier_ , but that is no match for the pitch rage they’re infused with now. Before you can shout at her, her lips are on yours yet _again_ , but it is _nothing_ like before.

If your first kiss was tender, this was _fire_ , burning through your veins and setting each and every last one of your nerves ablaze. You press back as hard as you can without hurting her(too badly), and you get rewarded with a nip. She _bit_ your lip. The _nerve_!

Holding yourself up with one hand, you use the other to yank at her hair again, which causes her to bite down harder. You let out a low bellow, thumping her on the head as lightly as you can manage, given the situation. She lets out a yelp, hands flashing from your cheeks to the side of her head.

Vriska’s eyes have gone wide in fear, and your heart rate increases(a feat, considering it was going a hundred already). _That was the right thing to do_ , you assure yourself. As much as you don’t want things to vacillate to red because you’d gone too far, it _really_ wasn’t the best feeling to have fangs about to run _through_ your lip.

Still, you can’t help but feel a flash of pity. You’ve hurt Nepeta enough times to know exactly what pain looks like in someone’s expression, pain that _you_ caused. But no, there could be no room for pity here. Vriska _deserved_ this. “ _Thanks, but no thanks_ for the surprise piercing attempt,” You growl. “Ha!” The ceruleanblood goes from looking pitiful to ridiculously smug in a matter of seconds. “Spiderbites would be quite fitting though, don’t you think?”

“I’d much rather look professional.” You force yourself to let go of her hair, a few stray pieces coming out with your hand. The temptation to keep them near overweighs the urge to sweep them aside as a show of how little you care for her. “Professional! If you think I ever saw you as professional, _especially_ after this, you’ve really got another thing coming!” Taking a deep breath, you fight the urge to cause her any more harm. You will have to read up on how to conserve your strength in these black moments, or risk endangering both your kismesis's life or the quadrant you now share.

But now it is time for her to leave. You’ve had too much.

Of course, as you pick yourself up from the floor, and offer her a hand, she refuses. “If you think I’ll _ever_ trust those fingers of yours again-” “I’ve got another thing coming,” You interrupt, mocking her in your tired, monotone voice. “Yes. I understand.” Vriska seems a little surprised for a moment, but soon begins to laugh.

You ask her to leave, favoring a false pretense of politeness over the true anger you still feel. Of course, she can’t help poking the bear(horse?) one last time, and you can’t keep yourself from letting out a shout of pure _rage_. Her eyes widen, and you can see the fear in them as sure as she must be able to see the frustration in your own.

Of course, Vriska laughs to cover up her momentary lapse in composure, this time much faster. Her response time is improving, now it’s time for you to work on your own. After all, if you keep letting her see your more primal side, she will only want to bring it out further. And, as much as you absolutely _despise_ her, you can’t risk causing her any fatal injuries. You don’t want to kill her, as easy as it would be(accidentally or otherwise).

As you walk to the door that she left open(the first of many petty pitch advances that you are sure to see), you muse that you will _certainly_ have to prepare yourself for the way things will change.

Perhaps you will tell your moirail, but _only_ on the condition that she keeps this out of her ridiculous charts. Talking with her will be cathartic at the least, you’ll have to schedule another video chat.

**Author's Note:**

> long time no see!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> i love this ship and i need more


End file.
